


for a good time

by Snickfic



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alpha Natasha Romanov, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, F/M, Feelings, Futanari, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 05:49:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20755358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snickfic/pseuds/Snickfic
Summary: “Come on,” she said, her voice rough with arousal. She reached up and gripped the back of his neck, firm but not tight. Reassuring. Slowly he sagged, the tension in his shoulders loosening, his head drooping. “Come on, Barnes. You just have to ask.”





	for a good time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Meatball42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meatball42/gifts).

> This fic ignores Civil War's entire existence.

They were in the middle of a firefight when Natasha caught the scent of Barnes’s season: that peculiar sweaty-musk saltiness that had wafted off him a few times these past few months. She allowed herself just one sniff—_delicious_—and then exhaled through her mouth, peeked over the concrete barrier, and got a couple more shots off.

Ten minutes later they were inside the main building, she and Barnes and Steve, with Sam overhead providing air cover; fifteen minutes after that they were running out of it again, full-tilt. They ducked behind those same concrete barriers just as the whole compound blew sky-high. The heat of the explosion rolled over Natasha, and smoke followed after, stinging her eyes and filling her nose.

Even once they were back in the van, all Natasha could smell was ash. She might’ve forgotten what she’d smelled before if she’d been the kind of person who forgot that kind of thing, or if Barnes hadn’t kept squirming in the passenger seat in front of her. Eventually Steve caught on and started shooting furtive glances across the van at him, which Barnes firmly ignored. That was about the time Natasha noticed Sam shooting looks at her. When she caught him at it, he only raised his eyebrows.

Sometimes Natasha missed working alone. Not often, not when she had Steve’s shield clearing bad guys out of her path like a crazed boomerang, when Sam arrived at the safe house with mysteriously-sourced tamales full of pork and raisins, when Barnes chuckled at one of her jokes and then pretended he hadn’t—but still. Sometimes, she missed it.

Fifty miles up the interstate, Steve pulled into the parking lot of a roadside motel, and Sam hopped out of the van. Natasha’s nose had cleared somewhat, and now it was full of Barnes: fragrant, needy. “Bucky—” Steve began.

“I’m fine,” Barnes snapped. “I’ll be fine.” He shifted his weight, and Natasha caught a whiff of another scent under the pungeant need, mellower, even more appealing—the salt-slick sent of arousal.

It was Natasha’s turn to try and not squirm. The nub of her dick ached, trying in vain to swell within the confines of her uniform. Catsuits were not forgiving. “Where the fuck is Wilson?” she muttered. Steve shot her an apologetic glance. 

Eventually Wilson showed, swinging two sets of keys. One of them he tossed to Natasha. “Barnes,” she said sharply, although she couldn’t imagine he was in any less of a hurry than her. She barely remembered to grab her duffel. It was a challenge to fit the key in the door; it took all her fraying concentration, while Barnes hovered at her shoulder close enough that she felt his breath on her neck.

The room was a dump. Ancient, 70s shag carpet, 70s wood paneling on the walls. It smelled of Windex, but that didn’t matter, because soon enough it’d smell only of Barnes. Natasha dropped the duffel on the floor and turned to survey him, still standing at her shoulder. She took a shallow breath through her mouth and said, “How you doing?”

“All right,” he said, a patent lie. His pupils were blown, his color high. His chest rose and fell on shallow breaths. She could pretend to believe him; she judged it’d take another hour, tops, before he started to beg. She could last that long. She’d done it before for intel or just out of pique, when a mark had pissed her off.

It was a spy’s trick. It was cruel. She didn’t need to pull any of that with Barnes. “Come on,” she said, her voice rough with desire. She reached up and gripped the back of his neck, firm but not tight. Reassuring. Slowly he sagged, the tension in his shoulders loosening, his head drooping. “Come on, Barnes. You just have to ask.”

“Please,” he said, caught in the sway of his own hormones and hers, in the tide of need.

She pulled him down for a kiss. His hands fell to her waist, resting lightly on her hips—assuming nothing, even after all the other times they’d done exactly this. Natasha opened her mouth and kissed him deeper, hand still on the back of his neck. A firm grip and a kiss: that was her claim. He was hers for the duration, now. She breathed him in and took kisses from his mouth and felt it thrumming in her blood: _mine_.

A dull ache in her groin woke her out of her haze. “Fuck, let’s get out of these clothes.”

They were both filthy, she noticed distantly. All her exposed surfaces were covered in grit from the explosion. Her hair was full of very fine debris; his had to be, too. When she stepped out of the catsuit, the motel air was chill on her damp, overheated skin. She palmed her dick, just beginning to emerge.

Barnes was naked, too, ever-efficient when he had an objective. If anything he seemed more massive like this, without any padding for camouflage. The span of his shoulders, the circumferance of his biceps, the ripple of his abs—he was something to see. He caught her looking and stared back, mouth fallen open, eyes black. He tensed as she got closer—nervy, shy. Who knew the fucking Winter Soldier had shyness in him? Except he wasn’t all soldier these days. Nor was she.

Natasha gave him a friendly smirk, and Bucky smiled carefully back. He crept closer, until he was within reach, and then she kissed him again. She pressed herself to him, tits to chest, her dick grinding into his thigh. The pressure felt good this time.

Natasha was abruptly over the foreplay. “On the bed, Barnes.”

He had the nerve to grin at her as he went. It was always this way: a few uncertain moments until he settled in, until her orders slotted into his need like a key in a lock. Then he opened into someone cocky whose eyes sparkled, whose eyebrow tipped in challenge once he’d taken position on the bed. He leaned forward on his elbows, his gorgeously-muscled ass high in the air, waiting for her.

“You are a hell of a sight,” Natasha said as she climbed up behind him. Barnes shot her another grin over his shoulder. She stood on her knees behind him, one hand on his hip and the other on herself, coaxing her dick the rest of the way out. She swiped a hand across his hole, wetting her hand with his slick, and then she worked herself with it. The fragrance of him filled her lungs, her belly.

He took her so sweetly when she finally pushed in. Natasha groaned as she bottomed out. It felt as though she were sinking her whole self into him. The walls of the room receded, even the squeak of the bedframe. There was nothing left in Natasha’s universe except Bucky, silky-hot around her, muscle flexing under her hand.

She resurfaced sometime later, after three or four rounds. She sprawled on the bed and tried to catch her breath. A few inches away, Barnes did the same. Natasha rolled her head to the side so she could watch the rise and fall of his chest.

They were in the eye of the storm, now. Barnes’s heat would rise again in a while. They had until then to to do a thing or two besides fucking.

Clean off the hours-old aftermath of that demolition, for example. Natasha stretched out as long as she could, heels-down and fingertips bumping the headboard, flexing stiff muscles, and then she pushed slowly to her feet. Barnes slit an eye open to watch her and then smirked when she put a bit of sway into her step for him. “Whatcha up to?” he asked.

“Taking a shower.” Natasha eyed him for a moment. “You want to come? _With_,” she added, when the corners of his mouth began to turn up.

The shower would be have been a tight fit just for Barnes; with the two of them at once, it was a very intimate washing experience. Somehow he only banged his elbow once as he washed her hair. When she’d finished rinsing she noticed how his hands kept sweeping down her back to her hips and then up again.

The height difference made shower sex awkward, but they were determined people.

It was hours again before Natasha woke on the bed in a damp spot. After some careful consideration, she decided the damp was from her hair, which she hadn’t even bothered to towel dry. Dim memories surfaced of Barnes riding her dick, water droplets still falling from his hair. He was sleeping now his scent mellowed out, his long hair fanned across the pillow.

She left him there and stepped into the shower again, taking the time to clean all the spots she hadn’t gotten to before. Then she dug around in her duffel for the emergency supplies—jerky and protein bars, enough to keep her going for a few more hours on a mission or to fill in the hollow inside after a half-day of heat sex. She curled at the head of the bed with her bounty and watched the TV with the sound on low.

Barnes stirred eventually. He mumbled something incoherent and then went suddenly still, breathing careful and measured. Natasha crumbled the foil from the protein bar and watched him relax as he remembered where he was. He rolled over and smiled sleepily in her direction. “Better?” Natasha asked.

“Mm,” Barnes said. The smile broadened.

“You know you don’t always have to share your heat with me, right?”

“I’m not going on suppressants,” he said, sobering instantly. Muttering to himself, he added, “I was on that shit way too long already.”

“I didn’t say suppressants. Just—someone else, if you wanted. We have other alpha friends, or there are services, or you could just walk into a bar. I guarantee you’d have takers.”

“What, you think I’m some blushing wallflower?” The smile had returned, faint, not quite reaching his eyes. “You know, I had a life before—before them. Steve could tell you. I was a popular guy back in Brooklyn.”

It was hard for her to imagine Barnes like that, before Hydra and Russia—carefree, or as close to it as life ever allowed a person—but she could see it sometimes in that humored twist of his mouth, those careless moments with Steve. Or, just occasionally, those hours every few months when Barnes made himself hers. “I don’t doubt it,” she said.

“You cutting me loose, Romanov?” he asked. Those blue eyes looked worried now.

“I’m just saying you have options.”

“Looking out for me, huh?” He reached for her hand and traced a route across her knuckles. 

“Sure,” Natasha said.

Barnes kept on looking at her fingers, clearly to save himself from having to look at her face. “They didn’t see the point of sex. Not for me, anyway, not an omega. So I never had it, all those years.” 

“You said.” He’d approached her months ago, skittish but determined, and asked if she’d partner with him sometimes, just while they were working together, just temporarily. He’d been due for his second heat in seventy years. _First one was a bitch_, he’d said, which was concerning, given his penchant for understatement. He was important to Steve. She’d said yes.

“I figure that was a kindness, you know?” he said now. “Not that they meant it like that, but it’s like—I always liked it, before.” He turned that smile on her, quiet and genuine and private, like an offering. “It was a good time, you know? Fun with a sweetheart, or just a friend. So now, it reminds me of back then.”

Carefully, Natasha said, “It was never like that for me. Sex was another tool in the toolbox. Another weapon.” 

Bucky’s mouth twisted, preparatory to some kind of apology—for taking advantage, maybe. For needing in the first place.

Natasha had fucked a lot of people. She shared herself with very few. There had never been any overlap. “No,” she said. Barnes lifted his questioning gaze to hers. “It’s fun with you. You enjoy yourself.”

“Yeah I do,” he agreed. His whole face lit, sunshiny and open. “That mean you want to keep going? Maybe—” His gaze dropped again. He brushed his fingers across the bedspread. “—maybe try it sometime when I’m not in season? It’s not the same, but we could still have a good time.”

Natasha wanted to tell him yes. She wanted to see that sunlit expression again. “Let me think about it,” she said, but some of her feeling must have leaked through, because Barnes looked quietly pleased. What kind of spy was she, anyway?

A fucked-out one. Also a hungry one. “Fuck, I want a cheeseburger.” Heat sex always did that to her. Afterwards all she wanted was grease. “Fuck it, I’m texting room service,” she said, and reached for her phone. 

Barnes hooked his chin over her shoulder as she typed out a message to Steve. “Tell the asshole to bring me one, too.”

Nat settled back against the solidness of Barnes, warm, reeking of sex and old sweat. His hair tickled her ear. “Yeah,” she said. “I can do that.”

[end]


End file.
